


My Little Writing Snippets from Tumblr

by ETNMystic



Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [24]
Category: Original Work
Genre: these get weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNMystic/pseuds/ETNMystic
Summary: Sometimes I look at these and think "How high was I when I wrote this?" even though I have never smoked or eaten weed in my entire life.
Series: Mystic's Original Works (Possibly Transferred From My Other Accounts On Other Writing Sites) [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726699
Comments: 7
Kudos: 2





	1. Master Painter, I guess.

I am the master painter. All I need is a paintbrush and an object. The brush takes the paint of the color I touch it to and then I can paint something out of nothing. You think this would be amazing, but it’s actually quite terrifying. People keep asking me to use it for them or for they themselves to use it. I’ve even been mauled several times in an effort for someone to get their hands on it.


	2. Flower?

“Flower?” my mother calls from the cottage.   
“Your supper is ready.”

I’m not ready to leave the meadow. I can’t leave Riley.

“You go ahead,” she nudges me with her antlers.

“But the flowers are so pretty.”

“Yes, but your mother is the fairest flower of them all.”

“Well, yeah,” I agree.   
“But when your mother is Snow White, you get that a lot.”


	3. Satan's Cabaret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinky.  
> CW: Alcohol, seduction, Satan, lots of sin, strippers, smoking, a lot of sin, probably an orgy in the backroom, let's be honest.

I open my eyes only to find darkness. I hear a faint jazz piano plink out an unfamiliar tune somewhere in the back along with low voices.

A bitter and stale stench rushes into my nostrils, making me cough. The toxic aroma seems to be a mix of cigar fumes, intoxicated sex, and alcohol poisoning. And why is it so hot?

“What the hell is all this?

“So, you’re finally awake,” a woman’s voice purrs.

My eyes dart around in the dark.

“Who’s there?” I ask in a panic.

All of a sudden, I hear a snap of fingers and a small spotlight comes on. Next the click of stilettos hits my ears. In steps Vera. Her brunette hair has been done up in hooker curls, her lashes are long and dark black and her eyeshadow is a fiery, seductive red. To match is a sparkly, flaming red, strapless dress. In fact a lot of her seems to be red. Her lips, her stilettos, her nails, her pitchfork, her pointed tail….

Wait. What?

“Vera? What are you doing here?”

“Oh how cute,” she chuckles as she struts on closer.  
“You actually believe my name is Vera.”

She reaches out one, long, red fingernail and touches it to my chin. With barely any force exerted, she brings my head up so that we meet eye to eye. She gives me a sourly-sweet smile.

“Darling, Vera’s just my cover name. I thought you were smarter than that.”

She begins to push her fingernail into my chin. The pain is intense, but I try to hide it. At this she makes a pouty face and bats her eyes.

“Oh, is my sweetie pie in pain? How tragic,” she oozes.

After a moment, she removes her fingernail from my chin. The top part is covered in my blood. Bringing it to her lips, she takes her tongue, also forked, and passionately licks the blood. She closes her eyes and gives a satisfied sigh.

“But sometimes, pain is necessary, even for those we love.”

Love?

“Okay, who the hell are you really?” I demand.

“My dear, why so impatient?”

I glare at her and she laughs.

“Trying to be tough, now, are we? How. Cute. But it’s not gonna scare me, honey.”

“Answer me!” I yell.

“Shhhhhh!”

She brings one finger to my lips and stroke my head and face with the other hand; her fingernails graze my cheeks.

“What the–?” I begin.

“Don’t talk. Just let it happen,” she whispers.

For several moments, she strokes my face. Each time she does, I shiver in fright.

“You’re so warm. Yes, this feels so……nice.”

Next thing I know, she’s sniffing my hair.

“Mmm,” she sighs slowly and passionately.  
“You smell like…..strawberries. I LOVE strawberries. I WANT strawberries. And I want YOU. You are my strawberry.”

What kind of perverted psycho am I dealing with?

“Next time,” she purrs in my ear.  
“Use your indoor voice, my sweet. I don’t want to scare the customers away.”

“Customers?”

“Why, of course.”

She stands up and saunters back.

"I’ve got a business to run.”

So am I being kidnapped by a business owner? And what kind of business kidnaps girls and then hires a hooker to creep them out?

“Okay, tell me who you are. Please,” I say as the word “please” gives off a bitter taste in my mouth.

She smiles evilly at me.

“Beg for the answer first.”

I give her a confused look.

“I want to make you beg.”

I roll my eyes and sigh.

“Please, oh please tell me who you are and where I am!” I beg half-assed.

She huffs in disapproval.

“Not beggy enough, but we’ll work on it. Anyway, you’re at my establishment.”

“Establishment?”

She nods her head.

“What the hell kind of establishment?”

“Exactly. Welcome….to Satan’s Cabaret!”

She snaps her fingers and the place lights up. The room is full of demons and dead people, gambling, drinking, pole dancing, smoking, just about every sin you could think of. And there’s fire. Lots and lots of fire.

“Where we make sure you have a HELLuva good time.”

I stare at her shocked.

“Wait. _YOU’RE_ Satan?”

“Duh,” she scoffs.  
“What did you expect? A giant demon with horns?”

“No. I just thought Satan was a dude.”

“That’s because those books are sexist. They want girls to seem all sweet and goody-good. Whatever happened to being a bad girl?”

“But I thought Satan punishes bad people.”

“I did at first,” she says as she levitates on air.

She snaps her fingers and a flaming nail file appears. She begins to shape her nails.

“I did use only punishment. But it turns out no one responds well to just punishment. So that’s when I decided to open up the cabaret. They work on their level during the day and then, at night, they come here and sin to their heart’s content.”

“What about sleep?”

“Sleep?” she laughs.  
“Please. They slept when they were alive. Besides, dead people don’t need sleep. They’re party animals at night.”

I give a sigh.

“Okay. So let me get this straight. You’re Satan. You’re a woman. You run a cabaret. That still doesn’t explain why I was knocked out, tied up, and caressed.”

“The caressing is because you’re my honey bun,” she oozes batting her eyes.  
“The reason I brought you here is….well, let me explain something first. I usually kidnap mortals to run my business. Right now I have most of what I need. I have a bartender. I’ve got a pimp. I’ve got a few hookers and prostitutes. A coupla strippers and pole dancers here and there. I’ve even got a bouncer.  
“But I realized that the place was lacking some…..class. Sophistication. Art. So I now have a lead dancer. But what I needed was a lead singer. Preferably a classical ingenue. I know it’s not sin. But soma the guys told me they wanted a little class and beauty.”

“So then why—?”

It doesn’t take too long for it to click.


	4. Upside Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special doesn't mean anything kinky in this, I'm like 95% sure.

Everything seems upside down to me.

Though that’s what happens when you’re superglued to the ceiling of your classroom.

Don’t ask me what happened. I don’t know how I got up here. One minute I was falling asleep to a lecture. Then the next, I found all the blood rushing to my head and everything the other way.

Did my teacher do this to me? I have heard rumors that he’s a little……interesting and that he did……special things to certain students.

No one knows how exactly he picks them, but one thing’s for sure; you do NOT want to be one of his “special” students. At least that’s what I’ve been told. The rumors at my school haven’t exactly had a reputation of truth; that’s the lightest way to put it.

In his defense, I’ve had him for about a week and I haven’t really seen him acting strange at all. Then again, a week isn’t that long of a time to see much weird behavior anyway. He could be a psychopath or he could be just a regular guy.

So, as the blood rushes even further to my head, only one question spills through my mind; Am I one of his “chosen students”?


	5. Take Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Taking out” can mean: a date, dinner or murder. You do all of them.

They all assumed I was not.

Such an innocent face would never.

It was the same as always; meet them in the park, then dinner, then the fun began.

Men fall so easily into the delusion that they were in control. They want to help a sweet young virgin become an experienced young woman and my innocent face proves to be their downfall.

This one in particular was my favorite.

A young man; head of the press. A womanizer well-known throughout the city. Mr. Robert Smith was his name.

He approached me at the bench I always sat. Asked me if I was lost. Offered to show me around the park. We took a nice stroll, skipped some rocks. He told me about himself, his past, let a few secrets.....slip.

The truth-telling mint I offered him as a token of my gratitude made it so easy to get him to talk. And talk he did. Several instances of forgery, various affairs, swindling his employees into working longer for less.

And I recorded every detail. But such a sweet face wouldn't know to tell anyone, I'm sure.

Then he offered me dinner. Took me to the most luxurious restaurant in the city. We dined rooftop; he had a few glasses of vin rouge, a virgin cocktail for me. I listened as he spilled more secrets. He told me how terrible his wife was in bed. I stared at him in confusion. Because I had no clue what that meant. I asked him how someone could be bad at sleeping, as well as how he knew she was a terrible sleeper. Worked like a charm. His pupils grew. The feminine naiveté is the strong man's kryptonite.

After dinner, he took me back to his apartment, and the action began. He took me to the bedroom, took his fingers, traced the curves of my body. I pretended I was frightened, but I loved every second of it, because I knew he was in hook, line, and sinker.

I took out my purse, had my special handkerchief at the ready, sneezed; the powder went right into his face. He fell under in an instant.

Took him over to his desk, had him write out his will, and signed off as the witness. He so generously handed control of the press over to his sweetheart, moi. I asked him where he kept les somnifères. Like an obedient dog, he trotted over to the desk, so enraptured by me at this point. I then asked him where he kept his strongest spirits. Before we finished our night, he so loyally helped me set the scene up to frame his wife. How he hated her, so convinced she was having an affair behind his back.

Once the scene was set, we shared one last set of drinks together; I, another virgin cocktail, him a strong spirit with a cocktail of his stronger somnifères mixed in. He so graciously got into position, I grabbed a pair of gloves, grabbed the carving knife his wife had used to carve their meat for dinner last night. Once he was successfully sedated, I drove the knife into his heart, of course with the gloves on and gently. A lady shouldn't leave too much of a blood trail. Once I saw the blood begin to flow, I pulled the knife out and set it atop his chest. Once I was finished, I tossed the gloves into the washing machine and the dryer.

The next day, his wife was arrested and charged with spousal homicide. She insisted she was innocent, but all signs pointed directly to her. With my new control of the press, I subtly made jabs and spread secrets that the husband had told me. And just like that, his wife lost her reputation.

Do I feel bad about what I do? Sometimes. There was one man I murdered after Mr. Smith who I found out had no money, leaving his wife and child penniless. I anonymously transferred some of the fortune Mr. Smith had kindly willed to moi. I also sent her some meals to hold them over while they found a better place to live.

I'm no monster. A murderer? Perhaps. A seductress? Certainly. But a monster? Absolutely not. I made a mistake with the one I killed after Mr. Smith. My modus operandi is simple; I seduce the rich and immoral with my innocence and naiveté. Once I get them back to their place, they so graciously will their estates to their sweetheart, the name varied everytime, we would then set the scene to frame their wives, he would drug himself up enough to knock him unconscious. I'd find a knife his wife had recently used, and soon enough he was dead. The evidence always pointed to the wives, irrefutable, undeniable. But sometimes I make mistakes. Fortunately for me, the poor man was adamant about me not framing his wife, and I complied. We then made it look like a suicide.

Why do I do it? Why do I seduce and then murder the rich and immoral men? Simple. Karma. The rich who choose to be immoral receive their just desserts and the wealth goes to the poor, the deserving, those who actually need it.

It's a demanding job, but hey. Someone's gotta thin out the one percent.


	6. Short Responses to Tumblr Writing Prompts, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts from tumblr account @writing-prompt-s
> 
> CW: Suicide, drug mention.

_You were cursed to die a thousand deaths. Over the years, you have gotten creative with your suicides._

Me: This bitch empty (on the inside) YEET!

*yeets self off of balcony.*

* * *

_A curse has been cast upon the world. Now all figures of speech and idioms that are spoken or written down become completely true._

As the one who sent in this prompt, I’m just now realizing just how dangerous the “the floor is lava” trend would be in this prompt. 

* * *

_In a world where candy is illegal, you’re a candy dealer. You’ve been dating a police officer for a couple of years now and they just found out what you do for a living, but instead of weakening your relationship it made it stronger. Why?_

Willy Wonka would be screwed. 

* * *

_Several hundred centuries into the future, in a post-apocalyptic world, mankind has evolved to be drained of all imagination and creativity and hence dreams. From time to time your immortal friend reads to you from their old dream journal. One night, you go to sleep intrigued and envious, and for the first time, you have a dream._

I’ll pass on that future, thank you very much. 

* * *

_You are Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty. You used to set people up, wishing to create fantastic romances for others. No, you have found yourself to be the goddess of a different kind of setting people up: You are now the god of shipping and fanfics._

Shit, I can’t handle that kind of power. 0.0

* * *

_You are the worlds first super-villain. The very mention of your name strikes fear into the hearts of all those who hear it. Your power? Hugs so full of love and warmth that no one can resist them. Tell your story._

So, if Rosanna Pansino was a supervillain.

* * *

_You’re the friend of the Dashing Young Hero. Sadly for him more and more women are becoming independent and self-sufficient and don’t need a “knight in shining armor” to come rescue them. This is hard for him to deal with. So you and some friends hold an intervention because he needs to come to grips with something about himself. The fact that he’s a heroine addict._

DID YOU SEND THIS PROMPT IN JUST TO MAKE A FUCKING PUN????????????????????

* * *

_The elevator dings, and slowly, the doors open._

_“Hello, you must be new here.” A demon greets, his eyes filled with fiery intent._

_You’ve just reach the bottom floor of Hell._

_“Welcome to Tumblr,”_

What about the innocent parts of Tumblr? Are they in Hell as well?

* * *

_You look at your phone and it seems someone has been calling you non-stop for the past 20 minutes. You call them back and tell them your name. On the other side, you hear this:_

_“Listen and listen good. I’ve got your two best friends held at gun point. Whichever friend you pick will be set free. The other will be killed. If you hang up, they’ll both be killed. If you call the cops, they’ll both be killed. If anyone asks why you’re on the phone and you tell them the truth, they’ll both be killed. You have thirty minutes to make a decision.”_

@ all of the comments that say “I have no friends” or some variation, please pretend you do. 

* * *

_You own a hotel where fictional characters arrive from their respective universes for a break from the havoc of the worlds their authors create for them. Generally, things are quite peaceful, considering you’ve set up a strict rulebook & have the power to back it up yourself. Today, you can’t help but tell a few guests are using the hotel as a front for breaking one of the most carefully-upheld rules: never exchange materials & items from other fictional domains._

Is this Oscar’s Hotel for Imaginary Friends?

* * *

_After being greatly wronged, you seek out the Goddess of Vengeance to give you advice in your quest for retribution. When people told you tales of Her, you always imagined a powerful warrior, sitting atop a throne made from the skulls of Her enemies. Instead, you discover a kindly old woman tending to a garden outside of a cozy cottage in a peaceful meadow._

I guess Hecate’s really trying to change her image, huh?

* * *

_Throughout your whole life, you see glowing butterfly-like things flying around people. You discover that these butterflies are the culmination of a thought troubling someone; the bigger the butterfly, the more troubling the thought is. You usually see one or two small ones; some people you see have up to five small ones. On rare occasions, you even see a couple big ones around someone. But today, you saw someone with a swarm of dozens of giant butterflies._

I thought I had those butterflies under control....

* * *

_You’re a HUGE musical theatre fan. You love tons of musicals, and you are absolutely obsessed with one musical in particular. One day you wake up and immediately notice something is different: you’re not in your room anymore. There’s a note on the end table that starts with the words to whoever is reading this now. According to the note, you are in your favorite musical. You have to keep a low profile and just pretend to be a background character, unless you were unlucky enough to become a main character, which appears to be the case for you. You cannot insert yourself into or mess up the storyline, and you have to play your character’s role properly. That sounds easy enough, until you see the bottom of the list of rules. At the bottom, the word **SURVIVE** is scrawled out in huge, messy letters. Write about how you survive this world, where more danger lurks at every corner than is shown onstage or even exists in the real world._

Oh boy. So I'm either dying in revolutionary France, being treated poorly until a man takes me in as his adoptive daughter and eventually fall in love with a guy through a fence, being sought after the guy whose ward I am, or being stalked by an opera ghost.

Swell.

Or, I could be a smart little girl with telekinetic powers.

UPDATE: I’m a mourning gothy teen girl who I share the same first name with who can see ghosts and almost gets married to a demon for eternity. 

* * *

_You actually write something instead of just reading the prompts_

I feel personally attacked by this.

* * *

_You’ve made a deal with a dark deity and have written them into the online writing community of your fandoms. Each time someone reads something where this deity is mentioned, they get possessed. And on top of it, this deity wants to marry you._

I actually sent this in for advice. I released one back in November and I need to know how to stop it.

* * *


	7. Goddess Incarnated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Maybe transphobia? It works out, though.
> 
> Response to the tumblr prompt:
> 
> Priestesses of the goddess. All beautiful, as everything created by the goddess is beautiful. They liked to think of themselves as “the real women”. Never let a man to inflitrate their ranks. Their lifes’ mission was to find the next incarnation of the highest being. The most beautiful, the ancient mother, the Woman. They were looking in the stars and finally found her. Every calculation was deemed right. The religion had to reevaluate itself. The incarnation of the goddess was a transwoman.

“Why haven’t you let all of your sisters joined?” the incarnation asked as the priestesses stared at her beauty in awe, some of them covering their eyes, as her beauty was too much for them to bear witness to.   
“Do you not realize that I’m the incarnation of the goddess?”

It was moments before the High Priestess spoke.

“Eh. Fuck it. From now on, we’ll accept those who identify as female.”

This caused various ripples of opposition to occur.

“But, High Priestess---”

But the High Priestess wasn’t having any of that shit.

“Did I stutter?”

“Surely you can’t possibly---!”

**_“DID I FUCKING STUTTER?”_ **

“Are you saying that---?”

“Yes. They’re women too.” 

She then turned to the incarnation and bowed low before her. 

“Welcome, your majesticness. What is your name?”

“Nikita,” the incarnation said as a dragon appeared behind her.  
“Nikita Dragun.”


End file.
